I Can Only Imagine
by Hazel Lewis
Summary: Title states it all. This is a series of one-shots and imagines either found online or given to me by readers. Includes variety of characters throughout the show and a huge selection of genres.
1. Dean's Jacket

Disclaimer - Sam, Dean, or anything Supernatural are not mine. Nor are the imagines used which I found online.

A/N - Hello everyone to my first story. A huge thanks for coming and checking it out! I would like to be forthright and tell you all that these imagines aren't mine. I simply googled supernatural imagines and found them, so please don't be offended, I am NOT trying to take credit for whoever came up with these.

* * *

Prompt: Imagine Dean giving you his jacket to wear because he noticed you shivering - from unknown

* * *

You stood over the grave and watched as the flames ate up the corpse. Not the most picturesque sight, but one that you'd grown accustomed, and rather numb towards seeing it.

It had been a routine hunt, or as routine as hunts could go. No one was hurt too badly besides a few bumps and bruises that you all would surely be feeling tomorrow morning.

A cold gust of wind surged through the cemetery forcing you to take a step forward. You wrap your arms around your midsection in an attempt to keep warm as the freezing air whipped through you. It didn't help that it had started drizzling halfway through digging the grave. Or the fact that you wore only a pair of worn out jeans and a t-shirt.

You bounce on your toes a little, trying to get your blood flowing. Yet another feeble attempt at warmth.

"Well, she's burning pretty good even if she did get a little damp," Sam observed, watching from the other side of the grave the three of you had dug up.

The fire created eerie shadows across his young face. You take a minute step closer to the edge, trying to get close to the flames without appearing as if you were cold.

After Sam and Dean had both warned you that it'd be a chilly night and that you needed to wear layers, and you blowing them off, you were positive that you'd die of embarrassment if they found out you were cold.

Your fingertips had long since gone numb and you alternated which hand held the salt shot gun and which you stuffed in your jean pocket.

Dean had gone to the impala right after Mrs. Havisham's bones had started burning and her spirit had disappeared.

What he was grabbing you didn't know, but you were dreading the long walk back to the impala.

Really it wasn't too, too long, if you could count on nothing else you could count on Dean getting a decent parking place, but the cold made it seem that much longer. Your toes were starting to tingle and you knew that soon they too would be numb.

"What was Dean grabbing?" you ask, forcing your teeth to not chatter.

Sam shrugged, "He didn't say, but he'll be back any minute now."

You sure hoped so. Otherwise screw pride and embarrassment you'd do anything to get warm instead of die of hypothermia.

Right on cue, you could hear the telltale sounds of leaves and twigs being crushed underfoot.

Dean appeared to the left of your field of vision. You didn't dare turn your head for fear that your frozen neck would crack and shatter at the movement.

In his hands was the journal that the boy's father had given them.

"What's that for?" Sam asked.

You're glad he did, you wanted to ask the same thing but knew you wouldn't be able to get a word out without your teeth chattering.

"I was looking through it last night and I found this incantation that's supposed to help spirits into a peaceful afterlife," Dean explained, he shrugged, "I thought it'd be worth a shot."

"How come dad never told us about it?" Sam asked, almost sounding accusatory.

Dean glanced over at you and then back at Sam, "I don't know dude. But we know it now."

He moved so that he stood at the foot of the grave. Flames dancing in his green eyes as he gazed down momentarily before starting the incantation.

Your eyes lingered on his face. The strong set of his jaw, the emerald green eyes, let's face it, you were head over heels for him.

You knew it would never work out with him though. He liked the type of girls he could be with one night and leave the next.

Dean wasn't interested in a lasting relationship, and you cherished his friendship too much to jeopardize it by telling him how you felt.

You listened to his strong voice as Latin words poured smoothly from his lips. Your eyes were drawn down to the dancing flames, the skeleton almost completely ash by now. Was Mrs. Havisham happier now? More at rest? In Heaven perhaps because of the incantation?

You may never know or find out for sure, but it was a pleasant thought. That you could, as the saying goes, kill two birds with one stone. No she no longer would kill men who ditched their brides on their wedding days, but now she might find some rest as well.

Dean finished the page of Latin quickly and shut the notebook in an almost reverent fashion. You'd noticed that about both boys ever since you'd joined them. They were never once rough with the book. You wondered briefly if you'd have been like that had your father left you anything.

The hole in your chest that still lingered after your family's passing threatened to open so you dismissed the thought with a shake of your head.

Another cold gust of wind tore through you, effectively wiping your mind clear of any thought that didn't pertain to cold and or freezing. You couldn't stop the shiver that racked through your body as Sam bent down to pick up your two shovels.

He started walking towards the impala and you started to follow him before a strong but gentle hand on your shoulder held you back.

"Y/n," Dean said softly, you turned around to face him, "Here," he handed you the notebook which you took obediently and shrugged out of his leather coat, also his father's.

He handed it to you wordlessly but you shook your head.

"That's okay, I'm fine," you told him, but the shivering had started by then and you couldn't stop.

His green eyes met yours.

"Please, just take the coat, we both know you're freezing."

With that he draped it around your shoulders, grabbed the notebook, and pried the shotgun from your frozen fingers.

You instinctively wrap the coat tighter around your shoulders and the two of you start walking together towards the impala.

No words were exchanged, and for that you were grateful. Your thoughts were swirling as the warmth given by the new layer slowly thawed out your frozen limbs.

Warmth flooded your cheeks that had nothing to do with the jacket as you thought harder and harder about it.

Sure, maybe it had just been an act of a friend, you wouldn't put something like this past Sam.

But Dean prided his jacket almost as much as his car. You'd never seen him give it to any of the girls he met at bars, even when he was drunk, or in an overly flirtatious mood.

He turned to look back at you and your heart near about stopped at the caring look in his eyes.

"Better?" he asked.

You nod vigorously, making him chuckle as he continued to stride confidently forward in the dark.

You follow a step behind him and grin stupidly in the dark.

He'd not only noticed that you were cold, but he was willing to go cold so that you didn't have to. But it was more than that, he _wanted_ to go cold so that you could be warm.

Hope blossomed in your chest.

Perhaps you weren't the only one with hidden feelings.

* * *

A/N- I have a huge list of more imagines if you're insterested in reading more, or if you have an idea/prompt you'd like me to do please leave it in a review or send me a pm! Thank you for reading and **if you'd like to see this continued please, please, please review!**

Thanks again!

~ H.L.


	2. Attracting Dean's Gaze

Disclaimer- I don't own anything related to Supernatural

A/N: A huge thanks to **AshlynDecia** for reviewing! That means a lot for a newbie like me, so thanks!

* * *

Prompt: Imagine having to wear a dress for a job and when Dean sees you he can't help but stare - from unknown

* * *

You shuffle through your duffle bag, looking for the right type of outfit. You were going to go with Dean to a ceremony for the opening of a new painting at some art museum that night.

All the evidence Sam had gathered thus far pointed to a haunting. Of course there were three options as to which painting the spirit was actually attached to, which is why you and Dean had to go to the ceremony and find out.

Your fingers touch something soft and silky at the bottom of your bag. Curious you grip it and yank the material out. It was one of your mother's dresses that you'd managed to snatch before you'd had to leave.

A simple and yet elegant looking pale blue dress.

You bite your lip.

You didn't really have any better options to choose from, unless you counted slacks and a nice shirt as elegant clothes.

You decide to try it on to see if it actually fit you.

You strip off what you were previously wearing and pull on the dress.

The v at the neck was wider than you anticipated. The sleeves starting at your shoulders and only wrapping around the top of your forearm. The material clung to your midsection before fanning out in a pretty manner at your waist.

You twirled around to see and the skirt flowed in a circle, making you smile.

Yes, this dress should work nicely.

You grab the curling iron from your small toiletry bag and put up your hair in the most elegant way you know how. A fancy looking small ponytail while the rest of your (h/c) colored hair hung in ringlets.

The makeup you possessed was minimal, but it worked. With a little mascara, eyeliner, and a touch of lip gloss, you were content with your reflection.

You slip on your golden sandals, the best shoes that you own.

You were glad that Sam and Dean had found a small house to squat in instead of a hotel room, here at least you had some privacy. Otherwise it was a quick rush in the bathroom so that the next person could get ready.

"Y/N, you ready?" Dean called from downstairs.

"Just a minute!" You yell back.

You double check in the little mirror once more and put on a little lotion since you didn't currently own any perfume.

There, you were ready. Or, at least as ready as you could get.

You grab your cell phone, just in case, and walk out of your room.

You move down the short hallway to the stairs and see Dean standing at the bottom. His back is to you, but you can see that he's all dressed up. He'd even gone so far as to gel his hair.

'Sam must have helped him,' you think with a smirk.

You step carefully down the stairs, not wanting the dress to get tangled between your legs and trip you.

The old wooden step creaks beneath you under your weight. The sound makes Dean turn.

He opens his mouth to say something then closes it.

You can't determine the look in his green eyes as he gazes at you. His stare making you suddenly self-conscious. Was the dress too tight? You'd thought it'd looked fine before. Perhaps it was too short? Maybe you should've done something different with your hair.

You make it to the bottom of the staircase.

"You look nice," You tell Dean.

Your statement must have snapped him out of whatever faze he'd been in.

"Thank you," he replies courteously.

He holds out an arm for you and you take it, feeling his muscles beneath the suit jacket. The two of you walk towards the front door.

"Do you think I'm underdressed?" you ask him nervously, still trying to come up with a reason as to why he'd been staring at you earlier, " 'Cause I can change…"

He stops and turns to face you, "Y/N, you look beautiful," he tells you, his green eyes filled with nothing but honesty. He gently tucks a stray strand of hair behind on of your ears, "I wouldn't change a thing." He gives you a soft smile.

With that the two of you start walking again. He holds the door for you before walking at your side once more.

You're glad that the ceremony took place in the late evening. The darkness helped to hide the blush that forms on your cheeks at the thought of what Dean had told you.

'He was just being nice,' you tell yourself, 'You know he only sees you as a little sister.'

And yet, that look in his eyes had suggested otherwise.

Dean opens the passenger door open for you and you settle down in the impala as he walks around the front and gets in.

"I wonder if there'll be any music or dances," you wonder out loud as he pulls out onto the street.

Dean shrugs. "If there are, would you want to dance?"

"That depends," you reply, with a sly grin.

"On what?"

"If I have a partner."

"I'll dance with you," he says.

"Dean Winchester? A dancer?" you tease.

"I'm a man of hidden talents," he replies easily, "But seriously, I'll dance if you want to."

"I'd like that," you tell him with a nod.

"Yeah?" he asks, sounding hopeful.

You smile suddenly nervous once again, "Yeah, well…you know, it'd look weird if we were just standing around…right?"

"Yeah, yeah, of course," he agrees.

You nod again, your face remaining a sea of calm while on the inside you couldn't decipher what was going on in your chest. It was like your heart was doing a little tap dance. Dean had not only complimented you, he'd asked for a dance! You bite your bottom lip and sneak a glance at him.

His green eyes met yours and he offers a smile again.

"You really do look beautiful, I wasn't just saying that to be polite," he states.

"It was my mother's dress," you tell him, unsure of what else to say. It's not like you'd gotten much practice flirting before you'd become a hunter.

Apparently Dean didn't know what to say either so he just settles for a, "Well, it looks nice on you."

You smile shyly and turn to look out the window, suddenly looking forward to the ceremony.

You hoped that they played good music.

* * *

A/N- Again, thank you to **AshlynDecia** for your kind review. If anyone has any imagines/prompts you'd like to see, please let me know. Or if you have any corrections, constructive criticism is always helpful. **Please, please review!**

~H.L.


	3. Dancing with Dean

Disclaimer: Not mine :(

A/N: Thank you so much to **AshlynDecia** for reviewing! That meant so much! You're awesome!

* * *

Prompt: Imagine listening to some swing music and Dean pulling you up from your chair to dance to it - from unknown

* * *

You pull your pistol from your bag and decide that now is as good a time as ever to clean it. You'd been meaning to do so for a while but recently it seemed like things just kept popping up and getting in the way. Not at the moment though, thankfully.

You and the boys were enjoying a well-deserved break between hunts. Just chilling in a decent motel room and finding different ways to keep yourselves occupied.

Sam had left a little over half an hour ago to go to the library, and chances were he wasn't going to leave there any time soon. You smile fondly at the thought and shake your head, grabbing your ipod out of the bag as well and then grabbing your set of portable speakers. Dean was out on a supply run, so there was no telling when he'd return.

You set up the speakers and plug in your audio device at the table. You didn't use the speakers much, granted, but they still came in handy from time to time. You scroll through the playlists on your ipod but can't decide what type of music to listen to, so you pick a song at random and put it on shuffle.

You plop down at the table with your pistol and get to work as the opening cords of the song start to play. You disassemble the weapon with deft fingers. Dean could still accomplish that faster than you, but you were by no means inefficient at it either. You grab an old rag and dip it in some oil, your foot starting to tap along to the beat of the song.

You don't even remember the song, all you know is that it has a catchy tune. And, it might not be a bad dancing song. You laugh out loud at the thought and shake your head. Carefully wiping the exterior of the pistol until it shone.

You hear the distinct sound of someone trying to unlock the door with a card and pause. You resume your work as soon as Dean walks in, shutting the door behind himself as he carries the bags of goodies he purchased inside.

Your foot picks up the beat again and you can't help but bob your head every now and then as well. You jerk backwards as a hand appears in front of you, cutting off your concentration on your weapon.

Your eyes travel up the hand to the arm and then to the person that the arm belongs to. Dean. You cock an eyebrow up in a silent question.

"Wanna dance?" he asks with a floppy grin.

You hesitate and he wriggles his fingers, "Come on," he says.

Finally you relent and take a hold of his hand. After all, half a song couldn't hurt anything, could it?

He grabs your other hand as soon as you stand up and suddenly you feel nervous.

"I haven't danced in a long, long time," you warn him, feeling slightly self-conscious about the admission.

But Dean doesn't tease or mock you for it, instead he starts humming along to the song.

"I'll teach you," he promises.

He puts a little pressure on your hands and you step backwards, he nods. Then he tilts his wrists back and you step forward.

"See? You're a pro already," he states, making you blush slightly.

You fall into an easy pattern. Two steps back, two steps forward. Two steps back, two steps forward. You start to feel your walls slowly coming undone as he leads you. Then he starts to shake things up a bit.

He pushes on your right hand slightly, letting go as you go out to the side before coming back in swiftly.

"And you said you couldn't dance?" he teases.

You roll your eyes as you step back in rhythm, "I said that I haven't in a while, not that I couldn't."

He twirls you around once to your left. Easy enough. Then once to your right. He pulls you back in and then he starts doing actions at random. Constantly keeping you guessing, and yet you trusted his strong arms and gentle grip to keep you upright.

Step forward and a spin out, then a yank back in. Twirl here followed by two steps backwards. All random and yet all flowing into a beautiful dance that made your lips turn up in a smile. If Dean's grin was anything to go by, he was enjoying himself too.

You stop trying to guess what he'll tell you to do next and just let the music and his hands guide you. Step, twirl, step, twirl, twirl, twirl.

"Dean!" you gasp, feeling slightly dizzy and light-headed once he finally pulls you back in. You stumble just a tad and his grip on you tightens slightly.

He chuckles, "Okay, okay."

He pushes you out and pulls you back in, pulling you into a dip right as the last note ended.

The two of you remain locked in that position. Both of you breathing slightly from the exercise. You look up into his green eyes and smile softly.

"We should do this again sometime," Dean says.

"Yeah," you reply, unsure if you can answer in anything other monosyllable words.

He chuckles and shakes his head. You think he starts leaning down towards you-

The door to the hotel room opens and your head snaps to the side to find Sam gazing at you and Dean with a confused expression on his face. 'Guess the trip to the library went pretty fast,' you think a blush blooming on your face. Honestly, you can't remember ever having reason to blush as much as you did before meeting the boys.

"Did I miss anything?" Sam asks, his lips curling upwards ever so slightly.

Dean chuckles and sets you right on your feet.

"Nah, just giving Y/N a little dance lesson," he says, giving you a gentle poke in the shoulder.

You roll your eyes but don't attempt to hide a smile as you sit back down at the table to finish cleaning your gun.

* * *

A/N: Thank you all for reading and please, if it wouldn't be too much to ask, **please review**! I'd love to get some sort of feedback since this is my first published work. Constructive criticism is welcome!

If you have a prompt or imagine you'd like to see done, please let me know!

~ H.L.


	4. Shopping with Sam

Disclaimer: Not mine :(

A/N: Thank you! Thank you! Thank you! To all of you who have followed and or favorited this story! I love you guys!

* * *

Prompt= Imagine after a bad day Sam takes you shopping to cheer you up - unknown

* * *

To say that your morning had been a bad morning would be an understatement. For starters, you woke up with a scratchy throat and throbbing head ache, even though you hadn't drunk anything but water the night before. Then Dean had used up all of the room's hot water as well as finished up your toothpaste. Not to mention the fact that you had to wear your dirt clothes from the night before because you didn't have enough quarters for the washing machine and your only other set of clothing had dried blood on it.

Yeah, it was going to be one of those days.

You walk out of the bathroom so that Sam can get ready and fling your pajamas carelessly into your duffle bag.

You sit down on your bed and decide to read a book. Perhaps that at least would help calm your nerves.

"What book ya readin'?" Dean asks, bending over to read over your shoulder.

You shut your book with a snap and glare at him, completely fed up with him at the moment.

"Go away," you say.

"Oh, is it something naughty?" he teases.

You roll your eyes and scoot over before opening the book again.

No, it wasn't anything 'naughty' in fact it was a classic. One of the few classics that you genuinely enjoyed. 'To Kill a Mockingbird.'

Thankfully Dean seems to take the hint and backs off, leaving you alone with your story.

When Sam emerges a couple minutes later his face is freshly shaven and his hair slightly damp. He moves swiftly over to his duffle bag, clearly noticing the slight feel of tension in the room. Only an idiot could miss it.

"Hey, Y/N," Sam says.

Your head snaps up and you look at him curiously, "Yes?"

"Wanna go out for a bit?" he suggests.

You glance between him and Dean, contemplating your options.

"Go where?" you ask.

Sam grins, knowing that he'd already won you over, "Come on, it's a surprise."

He tosses your denim jacket over to you and you catch it easily with a slight quirk of your lips.

You hop of the bed and, with a second thought, grab your book before following Sam outside to the impala.

Sam takes driver's seat so you walk around and plop in the passenger seat. He starts up the car and you immediately pull out your book again and start reading.

"What book is that?" he asks curiously.

"To Kill a Mockingbird," you reply with a shrug, showing him the cover.

"I love that book!" he exclaims.

"So?" you prompt.

"So?" he asks.

"Where are we going?"

Sam smiles and shrugs, "You'll see."

You huff and roll your eyes, but can't help your growing curiosity. You outright laugh when Sam pulls into the parking lot of Legends, a place full of various little shops and outlets.

"Seriously?" you ask disbelievingly.

He smiles and shrugs, "Come on, it'll be fun."

You chuckle a little but follow his lead and get out of the impala.

"So, why are we going shopping?"

Sam stuffs his hands in his jacket, "You seemed a little stressed this morning, so I thought this might cheer you up."

Your chest warms slightly at his thoughtfulness.

"It always cheered Jess up," he adds quietly.

His admission creates a spark of pity inside of you so you loop one of your arms through his and grab your hand.

"Well, where to first?"

The two of you notice a sign in a window that declares there's a nice clothing sale inside.

"There?" Sam suggests.

You shrug, "Why not?"

…

You clutch your sides as you laugh. Watching Sam show off a pair of baggie jeans and a tie-dye shirt.

"You look like a hippie!" you say between gasps.

He chuckles.

You jump to your feet and run through the store to grab a thin leather belt and run back.

You place it on Sam's head and step back to admire your work.

Sam struck a pose and asks dramatically, "How do I look?"

You start laughing again, your cheeks sore.

"Okay, you're turn," he states, taking off the belt and eying the pile of clothing the two of you had picked out, each picking clothes for the other.

He holds up a puffy looking prom dress and you grab it, going to the changing room and dressing quickly.

You yank your hair out of its pony tail so that it falls to your shoulders than strut out.

Sam claps and laughs as you try to stay in character. Eventually you crack and have to gaps for breath as you laugh.

The two of you leave the store, still smiling like crazy as you went over and over what you'd done. The next stop that the two of you make is a pretzel shop. You order one with cinnamon and sugar and Sam orders one with extra salt. Sam grabs a warm cup of coffee for both of you and you find a bench to sit on while you to eat and sip the delicious beverage.

You and Sam exchange stories and chat idly. You focus on eating and drinking whenever there happened to be a lull in the conversation, although that was rare.

After you are both finished, Sam, being the gentleman that he is, took the trash and tossed it away before walking back and leading the way back to where the impala was parked.

"Hey Sam?"

"Yeah?" he looks down at you.

You link your arm through his, "Thank you for taking me today. I had a marvelous time."

He smiles, dimples showing loud and clear, "It was my pleasure."

* * *

A/N- Please, pretty please, review! Constructive criticism is more than welcome and if you have any of your own prompts/imagines that you'd like to see please let me know.

Thank you!

~H.L.


	5. Not Okay

Disclaimer: Nope.

A/N: Woot!Woot! 2 chapters in one day?! I'm sorry, but that is definitely worth celebrating over! Hope you guys like it!

* * *

Prompt = Imagine Dean knowing that you're not "okay" - unknown

* * *

It was just you and Dean in the motel room that night. Sam had gone out to interview the witness. All three of you had talked to the woman earlier that day, but it was obvious from the get-go that she was smitten with the youngest Winchester.

When the woman had suggested that she and Sam should get together for dinner Sam had reluctantly agreed.

'The things we sacrifice for the hunt,' you thought, not sure whether the thought amused you or dampened your spirits.

You rifle through your duffle bag in search of a book that you had bought from the previous town. You'd taught yourself early on that having something to read while stuck in a vehicle was an easy way to pass the time.

Your hands brush against what feels like paper. Intrigued, you pull it out.

In the picture is your family. You can remember the day it was taken. It had only been about three years ago. The five of you were positioned on the steps in front of your front door. Your parents in the back row with your father's arm wrapped around your mother. You sat in front with your two siblings. One older, one younger.

That was when you remembered.

The realization hit you like a punch in the gut.

Your fingers fumble to pull your phone out of your pocket to check the date.

March 9th.

One year.

One year since you'd lost everything.

Your chest felt like it would explode beneath the pressure that was building inside.

Couldn't breathe, you couldn't breathe!

The motel room door clicked open, snapping you out of it. Whatever 'it' was.

You school your features and fold the picture up, carefully sliding it into your jean pocket as you stood. Dean walked into the room, carrying a delicious-smelling pizza box with him.

You stomach rebelled at the mere thought of food.

"Dinner is served!" he announced.

You sit back on your bed, and prop yourself up against the headboard.

"I'm not hungry, but thanks," you tell him, flipping on the TV.

His smile falters slightly.

"You okay?" he asks, you can hear the concern in his voice and can't comprehend what that might imply.

"Yeah, I'm okay," you lie easily, "Just not hungry right now."

You start to think that you might actually get away with it until you feel the bed dip and Dean's sitting next to you.

"What's going on Y/N?" he asks in a gentle tone.

You search his green eyes for a second, "I told you. I'm-

"You're _not_ fine," he interrupts, "Please, what's wrong?"

When you don't answer he glances around.

"Is it the pizza?" he wonders, turning his attention back to you, "I just thought it'd be a nice change. But I mean, if you don't want pizza we could try that diner that Sam spotted on the drive in."

You chuckle, starting to feel slightly emotional at the thought that Dean would give up pizza just because he wanted to make sure you were okay.

"It's not the pizza," you assure him.

"Than what is it?" he asks.

You bite your lip, coming to the realization that Dean would probably pester you all night until you finally caved and told him what was wrong.

You pull out the photo of your family and hand it to him.

He gazes down at it and then looks up at you questioningly, clearly not understanding the significance.

"My family," your throat clenches, "March ninth."

He doesn't get it. Why should he? It's not like any of you actually talk about this kind of stuff very often.

"One year," your voice becomes strangely hoarse as you try to reign in your emotions.

You can see when the realization clicks in Dean's mind.

"Y/N, I'm so sorry," he says, "Why didn't you tell us?"

You shrug, determined that you would _not_ cry in front of Dean Winchester.

"I didn't realize the date until just recently."

"Come here," before you can protest Dean is holding you in his arms.

That was what tore down your final defenses.

You allow the tears you'd been holding back to flow freely down your cheeks.

"I-I know I should be over this by now," you murmur as the tears keep coming.

It was as if the scabs on your heart from your family's death had all been ripped open and were raw and bleeding once again.

"Shh," Dean sooths, one hand coming up to hold your head against his shoulder, he starts rocking the two of you gently side to side, "Y/N, there is nothing wrong with missing your family. Sam and I both know what losing someone you love feels like first hand."

You close your eyes, "When does it _stop_?"

"It doesn't," he says softly, "You just learn to live with the pain. Some days will be better than others, but the pain of loss will always be there."

"How do you do it?" your voice was no higher than a whisper.

"I find something to keep fighting for," he replies.

You think about that for a moment before asking, "What do you fight for?"

"I fight for the innocent people, for people who haven't felt that loss, and…" Dean seems to hesitate for a beat, "And I fight for us."

"For us?"

"Mm-hmm, for you, and Sam," he places a gentle kiss on your forehead than repeats, "For us."

You pull away, feeling better now that you weren't harboring all those emotions inside anymore.

"You think we're worth fighting for?" you ask him, wanting an honest answer.

He brings a hand up and wipes away a few stray tears on your cheeks.

"Always," he vows.

* * *

A/N- Please, pretty please, review! Constructive criticism is more than welcome and if you have any of your own prompts/imagines that you'd like to see please let me know.

Thank you!

~H.L.


	6. Sanwiches

Disclaimer: Not mine.

A/N - I found another imagine that was just so cute I had to write it right away, enjoy!

* * *

Prompt = Imagine teaching Cas how to make sandwiches and he's really pleased so he makes everyone a sandwich - unknown

* * *

You were glad now that the boys and Bobby were out in the living room searching through dusty old books. You really didn't need an audience for this.

You feel a little foolish as you roll up your sleeves, contemplating what you were about to do.

And yes.

That's right.

You were going to teach Castiel, an angel of the Lord, how to make a sandwich. Of all things.

He stood there awkwardly by the table next to you, still in his trench coat and suit.

"So," you clap your hands, eager to get this over with, "What kind of sandwich do you want to make?"

When Cas had first asked you about five minutes ago it was because you'd been hungry and had wanted something quick but good. He'd approached you and asked with such sincere curiosity that you hadn't been able to turn him down.

"I don't…." Cas frowns, he doesn't like feeling confused.

"Let's start with something simple," you suggest, turning to grab a knife, peanut butter, jelly, and a plate.

The bread you had left out from your own sandwich which you set down on top of the microwave while you gave your lesson.

"So, pull out two pieces of bread," you instruct as you set the condiments on the table, within easy reach of Cas.

He did so, his movements slightly mechanical.

"Now you spread jelly on one piece of bread and peanut butter on the other."

"How much?"

You shrug, "However much you want I guess."

When he hesitates you have pity on him and lean over. You unscrew the peanut butter and jelly and grab the knife once more. You try not to focus on the fact that Castiel is literally right next to you by this point. So close that when you move you can feel his trench coat shift.

You blush slightly at the thought and return your primary focus to demonstrating how to scoop out peanut butter with a spoon.

"There, see?" you ask, more to break the quiet tension than anything else.

He nods and takes the knife, barley glancing at you as he starts the task.

You decide to let him work on his own, after all, it was just a harmful sandwich, how hard could a PB&J be?

You grab your plate with your sandwich on it and take a bite, watching the angel's precise movements.

You're about a quarter of the way done with your sandwich when Cas turns to you with the plate. The two halves completely smothered in jelly and peanut butter. The jelly oozing out of the other side of the bread.

You do your best to keep your face neutral as you instruct him on how to place the two halves together.

He did as you told him to and looked at you hopefully, his eyes shining like those of a toddler.

"Awesome!" you tell him as enthusiastically as you can.

His whole face lights up at your praise before the seriousness returns. He looks between your sandwich and his.

"Cas it really is good, I promise, and looks can be really deceiving," you assure him quickly, "I'm sure it'll taste delicious."

"You think so?"

He sounded doubtful.

You try and put as much openness and honesty into your eyes as you tell him earnestly, "I _know_ so. You'll just have to practice making more. You'll be a pro in no time."

You start walking back to the living room after that.

"Y/N," you turn, standing on the threshold between the kitchen and the dining room.

"Yes?"

"Thank you…for teaching me," Cas shifts on his feet, looking out of place as he holds the plate with the soggy sandwich on it.

You smile at him, "Anytime."

You walk back into the living room after that and take the seat you had been occupying before.

"That took you a while," Sam observes from the couch. He sat less than four feet away.

You shrug and smile into your food as you take a big bite of your sandwich.

"I got distracted. Have you found anything yet?"

He shakes his head, "Nope, but we're still looking."

Sam picks up a thick leather-bound book and hands it to you.

You bite back a groan but dutifully start leafing through the pages. Eating as you go.

You don't know how much time passes before the sound of someone clearing their throat pulls your attention from the multiple ways to kill a ghoul.

Dean, Bobby, Sam, and you all look up at Cas who was standing in the entrance of the living room. In the angel's arms was a plate loaded with peanut butter and jelly sandwiches.

"I take it that was your distraction?" Sam whispers so only you could hear.

You nod your head.

"I uh, thought you might be hungry," he states, clearly uncomfortable under their confused gazes.

Trying to quell the awkwardness in the room you raise your voice, "I would love a sandwich, thank you Cas."

You send a pointed look Dean's way as Cas gives you one of the sandwiches, which happens to look just as appetizing as his first one had.

"Yeah, me too," Dean says, slightly less enthusiastic.

Everyone took a sandwich and Castiel stood there, waiting for them to try them.

You make a show of biting into yours.

"Do you…do you like them?" Castiel asks nervously.

"Yeah Cas," Sam said, you didn't dare turn to look at him, you were trying not to burst out into laughter.

"Delicious," Bobby said.

"Good job Cas," Dean adds, taking a big bite of his to prove it.

Castiel beams at their praise, "Y/N taught me how. I'll go make some more," he promises.

"Great," you agree.

He disappears back in the kitchen.

You take another bite of your sandwich.

"Way to go Y/N," Dean grumbles.

You start laughing uncontrollably and start gasping for air as the bite of the sandwich gets caught in your throat.

Sam leans over and starts thumping your back.

You hear Dean chuckling on the other end of the room which does nothing to help you stop.

"You better pull it together before he comes back," Bobby advises and although you can't see him you know he's smiling.

You wave Sam's arm away and take deep breathes of air, trying to calm down.

"Who knew?" Sam asks.

You giggle and quickly try to stifle it.

"Who knew?" you agree.

* * *

A/N - Hope you liked it, I'm not used to writing up Cas.

Thank you!

~H.L.


	7. Sam the Protector

Disclaimer: :( Nope

A/N: So...here's another cute imagine that I found. Hope ya like it.

* * *

Prompt = Imagine Sam protecting you from the bullies at your school - unknown

* * *

You grip your books tighter against your chest as you walk out the door of the science classroom. The hallway was always a dangerous place.

"Hey, uh, Y/N?"

You turn to find the new kid, Sam, behind you.

He starts to walk next to you.

"I uh, I just wanted to thank you for being my partner for that lab," he tells you earnestly.

You smile kindly, "You're welcome."

In all actuality, you should be thanking _him._ Up until science class it had been a pretty rough day. But then when the teacher had made them pair up and she and Sam had somehow ended up together he'd managed to turn your day around.

He was smart, but not cocky and didn't draw attention to it, shy and yet they'd had a deep conversation about the book you'd noticed he was reading.

'To kill a Mockingbird.' It was one of her favorites, and since the lab required a lot of sitting around waiting for a reaction, it provided a good topic for conversation between the two of you.

"I assume you like to read then?" Sam asked as the two of you walked down the hallway.

You shrug, "I love it actually. I usually spend my free period in the library."

"Really?" he didn't seem or sound like that disappointed him, if anything your statement seemed to have excited him, "What hour is your free period?"

You rack your mind, "Third, you?"

"Same!" he gives you a big goofy smile, and then hastily explains himself, "It's just…the last school I was at," he shook his head, "Let's just say that reading, well, learning in general wasn't exactly the 'cool' thing to do."

You chuckled as you start walking up the stairs to where your locker was situated, "I don't think it's the 'cool' thing anywhere."

"Yeah, but it's nice knowing someone else has the same interests."

You nod in consent, about to comment when a harsh shove sends you falling on your backend. Or, it would have if Sam hadn't caught you first.

He set you back on your feet and you see something shimmer in his eyes. A glow that reminded you of a predatory animal protecting its own.

"Hey!" he barks, glaring at the jock who'd hit you.

"Sam, it's okay," you tell him, blushing slightly.

He looked at you incredulously, "No it's not," he argued, "That punk just about knocked you over. That's not okay."

"But he didn't," you point out, you wait until Sam's eyes meet your own, "Please Sam," you beg, "Please just let it be."

The tension left his body and he nodded reluctantly.

"Thank you," you tell him.

"How long?" Sam asked as soon as you started moving forward again.

You decided to play dumb, "Hm?"

You start turning the lock on your locker to open it and pack up for the day.

"How long have they been bullying you?" Sam asked bluntly.

Your movements stop for a moment before you shove your last textbook into your bag and clos your locker.

"Please Y/n."

You sighed, "A month."

"A month?!"

"Sam," you met his eyes, "They're just stupid jocks."

"Do they always shove you like that?"

You pursed your lips and glanced up and down the long hallway, most of the students had already bolted out of the building.

You chose your words carefully, "They aren't always that indiscreet about it, no."

"Have they ever hurt you?"

The care in Sam's gaze surprised you. After all, you'd only just met him that day.

"No."

"Y/N," his tone had a very clear 'don't-lie-to-me' quality.

"An occasional bruise," you admitted shouldering your backpack and closing your locker.

"Do you know why?"

You give him a wry grin, "They don't like to be told off about the side effects of underage drinking, or how low their IQ is, apparently."

His lips quirked upwards slightly, "Okay, well, I'll walk you out." He jerked his head and you fall in step beside him.

"You don't have to," you told him.

He smiled at you, complete with the most attractive set of dimples that you've ever seen.

"I know," he shrugged, "But seeing as to how you're basically the only person in this building worth talking to I figured it can't hurt."

Your steps shorten in length as you get closer to the clear glass doors on the ground floor. Outside you can see the group of jocks.

"Is that them?" Sam guessed, slowing his own pace to match yours.

You nodded.

"Come on, they won't hurt you," he promised.

You follow Sam outside.

"Got a new boyfriend Y/N?" one of the jocks jeers.

Sam smiles casually and wraps an arm around your shoulders, "Damn right," he tells them confidently.

Sam leveled his gaze and sorted the group leader out among the small pack.

"So is this like your daily group therapy session?" he asked his tone innocent.

You elbowed him lightly and groaned when he ignored you.

The group leader's eyes narrowed slightly.

"Have we got a problem?"

"Actually, now that you mentioned it," Sam took his arm off of you and handed you his books. He stepped closer to the point where he was clearly in the leader's space, "We do."

The leader shoved Sam and he let himself step back a few steps.

"You need to leave Y/N alone."

The leader laughed, "Oh yeah? Why's that? You tryin' to be some sort of hero?"

Sam smiled, "Something like that."

"Well you better learn your place-" the leader tried to shove Sam again but he smacked the fat arms away before they could touch him.

The leader tried again and Sam smacked them away with practiced ease and sent a hard punch to his nose.

The leader gagged and stepped backwards in shock, blood pouring down his face.

"That was a warning," he promised, the predatory gleam returning to his eyes, "You lay another finger on Y/N and I won't stop with a broken nose."

With that he turned and walked back to you. He wrapped his arm around you again and took his books. You let him lead you down the sidewalk as the shock of what he just did, _for you,_ slowly settled in.

"Thank you," you told him.

He smiled at you and stopped walking.

"It was nothing," he said with a shrug.

"No it wasn't," you argued, you get on your tip-toes and give Sam a small peck on his cheek than laugh at the shock and slight blush that overcomes his features.

"So..se you tomorrow?" he asked.

You nodded and smiled, "See you tomorrow."

* * *

A/N: Did you like it? Please let me know if you have any prompts/imagines of your own that you'd like to see, I'm always looking for new ideas! Reviews are more than welcome!

Thanks you!

~H.L.


	8. Dean the Comforter

A/N: I am so sorry for such a gap between updates! Thank you so much to everyone who's followed/favorited this story, your support is what keeps a writer like me writing. So...yeah, here's the next chapter!

* * *

Prompt: Imagine showing up at the bunker crying and Dean comforts you - unknown

* * *

You were driving. Just driving, out on a normal supply run for groceries of all things. Dean had graciously lent you the impala for the trip. He was working on one of the many other cars that had been found in the bunker's garage when you'd left.

You put the car in park and tug the keys out of the ignition, grabbing the torn sheet of paper with the list of needed food items on your way out of the car.

The store that you and the Winchester's had been going to was barely a store, in your mind, it had maybe ten aisles of different food selections complete with a tiny freezer section in back, but it worked well enough. Occasionally you'd buy one of the newspapers from one of the stacks outside as well, just in case there was a hunt nearby.

Your ears prick up at the sound of someone crying and your eyes drift over across the parking lot were a woman was standing by a black truck being comforted by the man you recognized to be the store owner.

"I know it's been a year," she sobbed, her voice carrying in the wind, "But I just miss him _so_ much."

The store owner, a balding man in his late sixties patted her shoulder, you could tell he was saying something to her but you couldn't hear the words.

You didn't have to.

The memory flashed before your eyes as you stood there, keys in hand-

 _They were all being buried together. You had decided that that was what would be best, and as you stood there, sleet stinging painfully against your face, you knew that you'd made the right decision._

 _Once was hard enough._

 _There was no way you would have made it back another three times._

 _You watched as the smaller coffin descended into the frozen ground._

 _That's how you felt. Frozen. As if nothing would penetrate your dead heart. You wished you could feel something,_ _anything_ _but it simply wasn't there._

 _You watched numbly as they covered your younger sibling up._

' _An accident,' they claimed. 'A tragic accident.'_

 _You didn't believe it. You had seen the monster with your own eyes. Had seen the blood. Blood everywhere._

 _It wasn't an accident. Your family had been murdered. Period._

The keys slipped out of your sweating palm, the jingle from its fall snapping you out of the flashback.

You bent down, trying to control your racing heart, the groceries now entirely forgotten.

Your body felt hot and cold at the same time.

'Bunker, get to the bunker,' you told yourself.

It took a couple tries but eventually you were able to snatch the keys up and you hopped back into the impala. You tried to put the key in the ignition, but your hands were shaking too badly.

You stared at your hands, mesmerized by the silent tremors that wracked through them. Flashes of the memory playing themselves out in your mind over and over.

The funeral. Cold. Cold inside and out. The fake apologies, fake condolences. Alone.

You sucked in a breath, your lungs suddenly feeling three times as small as they should be. And oh gosh you couldn't _breathe!_

You managed to jam the key in the ignition and the car came to life beneath you.

You sped out of the parking lot and back towards the only home you now knew. The bunker.

You didn't understand what was happening to you and, if anything, that terrified you more than any monster you'd ever hunted before.

It was as if the past had just blindsided you and punched you right in the gut. All of the feelings professionally locked away were now spewing forth and you didn't know what to do because there was so much, too much!

You drove into the bunker, barely able to see the road or where you were supposed to park, your vision blurred by tears that you couldn't control.

You stumbled out of the car, suddenly claustrophobic from being inside of it.

"You're back-," Dean stopped speaking the minute he saw the look on your face, concern etched its way across his features as he dropped the tool he was using and walked over to you, "Y/N, what's wrong?"

That one expression of compassion did it. Sent you over the edge.

One tear was soon followed by another until your body was wracked with sobs and you were sure you would have fallen if Dean hadn't been holding you.

It was as if you were reliving every loss over and over again, and yet it was ten times as painful.

You gasped for air but there wasn't any and oh gosh would the tears ever _stop_?"

"It's okay Y/N," Dean soothed, pressing you even closer to him and sheltering you in his arms as he slowly ran a hand through your hair, "It's going to be okay I promise."

You buried your face into his t-shirt, as if to drown out the rest of the world.

"I've got you," he promised soothingly, "It's alright, I've got you."

You don't know how long the two of you stayed that way, you sheltered in his arms, and Dean whispering promises that you knew were false but you didn't even care because you trusted him.

When it seemed as if you were all out of tears Dean slowly drew away, holding you at an arm's distance.

His thumbs gently wiped away any remaining wetness on your face.

"You okay?" he asked.

You bit your lip and nodded.

He nodded back and gave you a soft smile, "Good."

He never asked you why you'd decided to cover half of his shirt with tears and snot, nor did he ask what had caused it, but he had made a silent promise. That he would be there for you the next time you fell and needed help getting back up on your feet.

* * *

A/N: This chapter was super emotional to write so I hope at least a few of the emotions made it into the story. If you enjoyed reading please leave a review, and please if you have a prompt that you created, or just one that you'd really like to see written, please share it with me!

Thank you all!

~H.L.


End file.
